


The Heavens Come Down To You

by Lokisgame



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Angst, Chance Meetings, Episode AU: s02e08 One Breath, Episode: s01e01 Pilot, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-30
Updated: 2018-02-18
Packaged: 2019-03-11 16:23:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,610
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13528044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lokisgame/pseuds/Lokisgame
Summary: The forecast said clearly, sky overcast, no showers at least until midday, but as her luck usually went when she wanted sunshine, she got rain.





	1. Chapter 1

Hoover Building was a monster housing several agencies and it had it's own underground parking garage, to which unfortunately she still had no access. She made a mental note to mention the need for one to the HR if she got the job.  
She parked the car a block down the street, aware of the small fortune it would cost her, telling herself, no pain no gain while looking through the windshield again. The forecast said clearly, sky overcast, no showers at least until midday, but as her luck usually went when she wanted sunshine, she got rain. It was still early, she could wait for the rain to pass but gray clouds as far as the eye could see didn't fill her with much hope. She cursed Ethan again for not giving back the umbrella she kept in the trunk for a day exactly like today.  
Being late for the interview was out of the question. The morning crowd flowed past her car, if she ran, she might get to the door fairly dry. Only problem was, she opted for high heels today, new shoes for a new job. She wished that running in heels was a part of the FBI academy training, but that wasn't her luck either. The rain grew lighter, angry staccato banging against the roof quieted to a faint hum of tiny raindrops.  
Picking the briefcase from the passenger seat Scully put on a brave face and wrapping herself in dignity, stepped out of the car. She paid the fee and tried to ignore the water splashing over her stockinged feet. Just a block, you can do it.  
The damp air was bound to ruin her hair. She saw herself looking like an angry Pomeranian sitting in that chair opposite Section Chief Blevins and cringed. She wanted to look as professional as she felt because she wanted this job, she wanted to do what she joined the FBI for. She was sick of being a professor, the geek locked up in her office grading papers. This wasn't what she trained for, what she left medicine for. And now was her chance to prove that she made the right choice.  
Back straight, head held high, she infused her step with all the resolve she had. No rain would stop her, no cloud will cast a shadow over this day.  
But as she thought that, a real shadow creeped in, saving her from the rain for a moment, she stopped abruptly and looked over her shoulder to see a man standing close beside her. Tall and handsome, young kind eyes, he smiled arm reaching out, umbrella in hand.  
"I believe we're going in the same direction" he said smoothly, as the crowd split around them like a river meeting a rock in it's path.  
"Do we?" she asked, surprised but holding her ground.  
"Well, if not, at least let me escort you as far as that entrance" he nodded at the door, still half block away. The rain grew louder, drumming harder against the canopy above them "Please"  
His light gray suit and a paper bag in hand made him blend in with the crowd, the ugly tie verified his story, he was definitely FBI.  
"If you don't mind" she gave him a small smile in agreement and started walking again, noticing how readily he matched her pace.  
"Not at all" he smiled back leaning down a little, brining the umbrella closer over her "just visiting?"  
"Job interview" she corrected, taking a step over a puddle, swaying a little. His hand twitched, ready to catch.  
"With whom?" he asked but her reply was drowned out by a truck roaring past, he instinctively angled his body to protect her from any splash that might come their way.  
"Can we go faster?" she suggested, speeding her step.  
"You're always so eager to be first in class?" he teased, following her long strides, feeling as if she was about to run.  
"First impressions are vital" she replied without looking up, determination written all over her face was softened by a small smile he caught as she slipped past him when he held the door for her "Wouldn't you agree?"  
"Definitely" he smirked when the door closed behind them.  
Folding the umbrella he watched her give herself a once-over, smooth out her hair and skirt, then shake a few raindrops from her briefcase. She looked nice, very presentable, business-like.  
"Thank you for your help" she beamed one last time, fidgeting with the strap of her bag, thrown over one shoulder "I hope we see each other again"  
"Me too" he smiled back, ignoring the crowd around them.  
"Have a nice day" she nodded and turned away, heading for the elevators. Bright red hair making her easy to follow amongst the dark suits and coats of fellow agents.  
"See you later Scully" he said quietly, heading for his basement office, wondering if he should have brought a doughnut for her as well, while he was at it.


	2. Chapter 2

The room was dark. Quiet beeping of the monitor followed the drumbeat of his heart. His back ached, the clock showed 4am.  
The slim figure on the bed looked unchanged. Mulder choked on a sob realizing that it was just a dream. Rain drummed against the glass and he felt a tear slip from the corner of his eye. A dream, not even a memory, his mind played a cruel trick on him. He squeezed her hand, firm but gentle, no response.  
"I saw you," he whispered against her knuckles, "the way you were the day we met."  
Sheet and blanket covering her moved steadily, up and down, life flowing through her veins, only her mind wandering through darkness.  
Arms folded on the edge of the bed, elbow pillowing his head, he held her hand and closed his eyes again, listening to the steady beep beep beep beep... 

Spooky Mulder was a legend, not only because of his brilliance, but because of his strange views and the way he did nothing to hide them. Very few knew him well enough to confirm or deny the rumors that floated around the campus, and those who did, cared nothing about them. Sharp eye, sharp tongue, spooky insight and even spookier past. Spooky Mulder was an urban legend himself, a troubled genius with a murky past, who knew too much about monsters within, to not be considered one himself by most of his peers. Oh, and aliens kidnapped his sister when he was a kid, if you believed that sort of thing that is.  
The elevator pinged, gloomy corridor lined with metal racks, stacks of boxes filled with papers, the overflow valve of the archive. She wondered if those were the infamous X-files. She found the office, and noticed that, spooky or not, he did earn a name plaque on the door, Special Agent Fox Mulder. She knocked.  
"Sorry, nobody down here but the FBI's most un-wanted," the voice on the other side called, she appreciated humor, every pathologist did. She pushed the doors open and stopped for a split second, the man in the chair turned around and smiled the same smile, that greeted her earlier. Folded umbrella left a small wet spot on the floor next to the filing cabinets. Above them, on the wall hung a poster, UFO hovering over a bold statement, I Want To Believe. She reached to shake his hand, slightly embarrassed she didn't introduce herself earlier.  
"Agent Mulder, I'm Dana Scully, I've been assigned to work with you." 

A faint echo of deja vu worked like gin and tonic, bittersweet taste of compulsion to tease her. She recognized him from before, he could see it in her smiling eyes.  
"You mean you got stuck with this detail, Scully," he got up turning away from her, feeling the bitter taste overpower all else, something was wrong, he could feel it.  
"Actually, I'm looking forward to working with you." Cold sweat on the back of his neck forced a shiver down his spine, the fear hollowed out the back of his mind. "If you have any doubt about my qualifications or credentials..."  
The words echoed in the dark warehouses of his thoughts, unsure how they got there.  
"You're a medical doctor, you teach at the academy. You did undergraduate degree in physics." He recited, unsure how but sure he's right, "Einstein's Twin Paradox. A New Interpretation." He reached into the nearest pile of papers and knew he would find it, he was sure of it. Closing his eyes, he picked out a slim volume at random, bingo. "Now that's a credential." He spoke out loud, as if to himself. He had it, at the tip of his tongue.  
"Did you bother to read it?" she asked, slightly indignant.  
"I did," he said slowly, a passage immediately springing into mind. _Although common sense may rule out the possibility of time travel, the laws of quantum physics certainly do not._ When he replied, he sounded miles away, "I liked it."  
He felt like something was escaping him. The thought was there, on the tip of his tongue, in her bright eyes, in the scent of dust baking in the heat of the projector's lamp. He tried to gather his thoughts, went through slide after slide explaining bodies on the ground.  
"Do you believe in the existence of extraterrestrials?" He asked, seemingly at random, buying time, trying to jiggle his own memory, make that apple fall to the ground.  
"Logically I would have to say no," textbook syntax rolls of her tongue like poetry and he knows it's her. It's him who's the problem.  
"You know, this Oregon female? She's fourth person in her graduating class to die under mysterious circumstances," sidestepping the word made him think it. _Abducted, abductees..._ The image flares on the screen of his eyelids, her face in a grainy photograph, tied up and gagged in the trunk of a car.  
The air comes shallow but she can't see it in the dim light.  
He knows. This is a dream.


	3. Chapter 3

A sudden jolt ripped him from the dream, back to her room, to the steady beeping of monitors in the morning light. Rain had stopped and he was not alone this time.  
"Fox?" Maggie's soft voice and hand on his back, soothing him back into reality. "Were you here all night?"  
He looked at Scully, still unconscious, unchanged. His hand tingled with the memory of her touch, cold now. He took her palm in both of his, sharing the warmth back.  
"I fell asleep," he replied vaguely.  
"Go home, get some real rest,” she insisted retreating, giving him space, not a moment to soon, not a minute to late. Anyone else would think him overstepping, but on some basic lever Maggie Scully knew, this was not just her tragedy, and whatever happened, Fox Mulder would never be a stranger to her family, he deserved this. "I'll call you the minute there's any change."  
He sat up straight, letting go of Scully's hand, it wasn't his place with Maggie around anyway. Mind racing, jacket in hand, he glanced behind one more time and left. 

Something happened last night, it was more than a dream, he just didn't know what exactly. He had his share of nightmares over the years, but there were rare nights, when his brain decided to throw him a bone, bringing back some good memories from the time before Samantha was gone. But still, when he eventually woke up, he was never able to go back, stay a little longer or control the outcome.  
Something that Melissa said came back, how she felt Scully in the room, knew his name. He dismissed it as typical new-age BS, waving his hands in the air crap, because he needed to act. Needed to find a way to bring her back, not find ways to accept her fate. But now he felt, that maybe Missy was right, maybe Scully was reaching out. 

His apartment was bathed in the morning sunshine, specks of dust dancing in the air.  
He fed the fish, fed himself, tore off the X taped over the glass and closed the blinds. The light took a red tinge, like sun seen through closed eyelids. He lay on the couch, hugging himself. Sleeping through the night in that chair made him more tired than he expected. The kid from the apartment next door was playing music at...

A violent drop woke him up, to find himself sprawled along three seats in the aisle. He saw a row of small windows, luggage falling from overhead compartments, people panicking. The music was in his ears. Looking around he found Scully too, hands clutching the armrests, her face pale as a sheet, taking deep breaths to counter panic. He knew she was afraid of flying, knew she'll get over it quickly.  
But then the images came back, the bright light, the laugh of a mad man, and suddenly he was as terrified as she was, paler than her even.  
"This must be the place," he said quietly.  
The urge to run, get away from this place as far as possible, fought it's way through to the front of his mind, but could he do that? What if he was inside her head now. What if he altered this one memory inside her and she came back as someone else entirely. What if she walked away and stayed in this dream reality? He couldn't risk that. He had to tread lightly.  
He sat up and coiled the headphones around the walkman, watching her gather the pages that spilled on the floor. She looked so pretty in glasses, he never noticed that before.  
"You wanna have lunch before we get started?" He asked, ignoring her my-stomach-hates-flying look. "I heard the local salmon with a little lemon twist is to die for, if you pardon the expression," he added wryly.  
"Maybe later," she went back to her notes, studying the case and autopsy reports. We won't have much time later, he thought sadly. 

"Is the medical examiner a suspect," she stated the obvious, sounding as if she was taking an oral exam. But her small laugh warmed his heart, how innocent they were that first time.  
He followed her memory, feeling like an actor in a play, hoping he doesn't skip anything important. Who knew what memories made us who we were. She laughed at a joke he made and he almost forgot what happened next. He jumped as the radio screeched, noise like a drill bored through his memory, making it spill.  
Mulder stomped on the break, looking around frantically. Are they here? Are they gonna take her away from her dream?  
Scully gave him a curious look and followed, when he stepped out of the car. He found the spray can in the trunk, marked the spot. _I will come looking for you here,_ he thought, weaving the thought into the fabric of the dream. He almost got lost with her in it for a moment.  
"What was that all about?"  
"Oh, you know," he said opening the car door for her, "probably nothing." 

The coffin rolled down the hill, cracked open like an egg revealing a mangled body.  
She did the autopsy, every bit as skeptical as he remembered. He watched her as he took pictures, her steady hands, her confident tone recording every detail. To her, questions were cold bodies, ideas patiently waiting to be sorted, analyzed and answered, so much different from his own process. He worked in leaps, theories evolving as new evidence emerged. She slowed him down, gave structure to what he only imagined in broad strokes. This was their day 1, he saw the cold wall in her eyes and climbed it again, just like the first time, gaining new appreciation for who she was.  
"I have the same doubts as you do, Scully," he assured her.  
They found the implant and both marveled. How did it get there? What was its' purpose? The questions burned a cold blue. They left the morgue around 3am. 

He drove them back to the motel. She rolled her head against the headrest, fingers digging into her shoulder, trying to untie the knot that formed there.  
"I know this is tough, Scully," he said sympathetically.  
"No, it's okay," she sighed closing her eyes, soothed by the low hum of tires on asphalt. "I just could use a hot bath."  
"If my room had a tub, you'd be welcome to it," he teased and glancing sideways caught a smile, "but sadly, all I can offer is a shower."  
"I'd settle for a shower then."  
That wasn't a reply he expected, her tone was deeper, words came slower, half asleep half awake. He looked at her, ignoring the road for a moment.  
"Scully?" She hummed in response, eyes still closed. Drifting off to sleep within a dream, where was her mind now? "Are you okay?"  
"I'm fine," she sighed. That first night, Dana Scully would never do that, "just a little tired."  
"Of what," he whispered, dreading the words.  
"Holding on." Her lips barely moved, and Mulder's blood turned to ice. He let go of the wheel and gently slipped his fingers into the palm of her hand. She can't give up now, he could figure this out, he just needed more time.  
"Scully," he brushed his thumb over the back of her hand, feeling it fragile and warm, "can you do something for me?" She was beyond words now, all he caught was a fraction of a nod.  
"Hold on for me, just a while longer." He squeezed gently, willing all his inner strength into it. "Don't let go," he whispered, barely audible. And she closed her palm around his, holding on.


	4. Chapter 4

Judging by the light, it was late afternoon. Waking up slowly, right hand still tingling with her touch, Mulder didn’t want to get up, he wanted to sleep and be with her again, back to times when everything was so much simpler. He closed his eyes remembering the tresses falling over her cheek, her deep voice, playful words rolling of her tongue. How quickly she worked her way through his issues and became the symbol of trust. How she held on to him, when he was drifting away not more than a few weeks back.  
Still, sleep was unreachable, not even a light doze, his last hope on long nights of raging insomnia. How ironic, one lost girl haunted his dreams with nightmares, driving him to insomnia, the other lived there and he could not fall asleep to find her. He could only hold on to the feeling of her touch, until his stomach rumbled.  
Dinner was a necessity, and something of a surprise, to feel the appetite returning, one meal at a time. The fog he walked through this past months was slowly lifting, hope rising like sun over his dreams.  
Was it possible? Raking through memory bank of case files he consumed over the years, brought only conventional knowledge, from testimonies of alleged prophets, who were long dead and therfore could not be studied, to vague mentions of ideas that came to people in dreams and could be interpreted as clues or warnings but only after the fact. Dissatisfying hours of research brought no answers, no comfort and no sleep.  
He taped another X to the window, swallowed a pill and moved back to the couch.  
He didn’t dream that night.

Thump of a news paper on the door made him bolt upright, strangled by the blanket, foul taste in dry mouth, the sleeping pill. So he couldn’t cheat his way into the dreams, how very Scully. A run was in order. On his way out, he picked up the newspaper, ripped red cross pamphlet slipped between pages. A sign he was waiting for.

A nurse was drawing more blood for tests as he walked in, she smiled as she passed him on her way out, leaving them alone, the chair waiting by Scully’s bedside. Mulder sat down and took her hand in his, for real this time.  
“Hi,” he whispered. Though the EEG remained unchanged,her heartbeat never wavered, a small comfort in the fact, that she was indeed holding on.  
“I dreamed about you,” he teased under his breath, smoothing away hair from her face, “but you probably know that.”  
She didn’t reply, and he didn’t begrudge her silence. The room didn’t feel empty, something Melissa said, that seemed ridiculous at first came back. In the fading morning gloom, he could believe she was here in spirit, that Scully’s soul was listening.  
Elbows resting on the edge of the mattress, chin in the palm of his hand, he stroked the back of her hand.  
“It’s beautiful outside, we could go for a walk if you’d like, have lunch. You know, like normal people.” They spent too much time courting darkness, as it was.  
“We never really did that, did we.” Guilt was bubbling up and he fought it down. “I know I always put work first, but we could make it a little more,” the word fun made his throat clench. “Humane,” was closest he could get to what he meant.  
This part of honesty was easier when she couldn’t challenge him. He flirted, teased, but deep inside couldn’t bare her cold gaze, piercing through the truths he kept hidden even from himself. He liked her, he needed her back, he needed his friend.  
“Did I tell you I went to California, when you were away?” He rested his chin on folded forearms, keeping her hand in his. He told her about vampires, the guy who burned to death in his jail cell. He argued photosensitive disorders that she would eventually bring up, the mental fixations, the science that might explain the things he saw. He left out the despair, the girl, the death wish. He held her hand and talked about all things meaningful and meaningless.

When the doors opened behind him, he jumped again and realized how tightly wound he had to be, that it happened so often these days. Was his own soul drifting away and each time he jumped, was yanked back into place?  
“You’d roll your eyes at that, wouldn’t you Scully,” he whispered for her only and turned to see Melissa, leaning against the doorway, arms folded around her middle, watching him with an unreadable expression. “Hi.”  
“How is she?” She asked, keeping whatever observations she made to herself.  
“The same,” he squeezed the small hand one last time and got up.  
“You’re leaving?”  
“I have to meet someone,” he kept it vague, unwilling to endanger anyone with too much knowledge.  
When the door swung shut behind him, Missy turned to her sister and sighed.  
“You sure know how to choose them, Dana.”

A muffled sound of a gunshot in the hospital parking garage made Muder reach for his gun and approach the scene with extreme caution. Instincts told him, that it probably was the meeting he was missing.  
“Federal Agent,” he said in a low but commanding tone, “lower your weapon.”  
The informant stood in the shadow, corpse of a man at his feet, vial of blood broken on the concrete floor next to his hand. As ridiculous as it might sound, Mulder had the distinct feeling it was Scully’s blood.  
“Didn’t expect to find you here till after visiting hours”, the man holstered his gun, Mulder didn’t.  
“What did this man want with Scully’s blood?” Mulder knew about the branched DNA, poison slowly eating through her system.  
“You’re not supposed to know, forget about him.” Mr. X turned, pity in his black eyes.  
“I owe her more than that,” Mulder growled. Jaw clenching with anger at the patronizing answer, his hand remained impossibly steady.  
“She was a good soldier, Mulder,” the man ignored the gun pointed at his face, “but there’s nothing you can do to bring her back.”  
“She’s not dead,” he almost shouted, defiance his only line of defense against the hopelessness.  
“I used to be you, I was where you are now,” X’s eyes turned cold, freezing pity into rock solid contempt. “But you’re not me, Mulder. I don’t think you have the heart.”  
The two men stood measuring each other, this had to be a blind spot in the monitoring system, hospital security should be all over them by now. Mulder lowered the gun, realizing the man probably knew nothing that could help Scully. He was alone in this.  
“Walk away. Grieve for Scully and then never look back. You will be able to live with yourself…” X’s tone softened as he turned back to the corpse on the ground, “on the day you die.”  
“What about him?”  
“I’ll take care of it.”  
Mulder didn’t oppose, it wasn’t his mess to clean up.

“Are you okay?” She asked, hand on the car door, one foot on the sidewalk.  
Mulder recognized the psychiatric hospital, home of Billy Miles and Peggy O'Delle.  
“Yeah, let’s go meet the doctor.”  
As the man droned on about things Mulder already knew, he wondered about Billy and Peggy. The boy was catatonic when they first saw him, an abductee in a coma, just like Scully. Could he and Peggy also share that connection, perhaps stronger as they’ve both been abducted?  
They followed dr. Glass through the hospital corridors, Scully’s dream vivid with detail. The boy lay on the bed, eyes open, staring into distance. Peggy at his side, reading quietly.  
"Billy wants me to read now,” she said in a dreamy voice when asked if she would talk to them.  
Mulder knelt beside her and spoke softly, as if to a child. “How do you know?”  
“He told me.”  
‘When did he tell you, Peggy?“  
"In a dream,” she replied.  
But then her nose started to bleed and she threw herself on the floor and there was no way he could find out more. And even if he did, he couldn’t be sure, how much of it would be the truth and how much the product of his imagination, influencing Scully’s memory.  
The flurry of motion around them was just as he remembered, but he managed to lift the girl’s shirt to make sure that the marks were still there. He met Scully’s eyes for a second, but she was rushing out of the room. He forgot he still had to work for her patience and trust. He caught her on the front steps of the hospital.  
“How did you know the girl’s gonna have the marks?” Her anger at being kept in the dark bubbled just beneath the surface, this was his Scully. It felt almost as if they were working again, but he reminded himself, that this was a memory and he had a part to play. That first case, it quite possibly made them who they were.  
“Lucky guess.”  
“Damn it Mulder, cut the crap, what is going on around here?” Angry Scully was force of nature, he almost wanted to hug her. “What do you know about those marks, what are they?”  
“I don’t think you’re ready for what I think,” she was too immersed in the memory, this moment was her reality.  
“I’m here to solve this case, I want the truth.”  
He took a step back, afraid he might break and take her in his arms, tell her everything. _You were abducted too, this is a dream and I need you to come back._ But this wasn’t the time, he had to play along for now. “I think those kids were abducted.”  
“By who?” she challenged, true to herself. This was her dream, she had all the power.  
“By what.”  
“You don’t really believe that.”  
Would she say the same thing today, after what they saw? Does she remember anything from what came later? Lake Okobogee, the alien DNA, Deep Throat’s death?  
“You’ve got four victims, all of them died near on in the woods,” she was so good at this, he couldn’t believe this was her first case, “what were those kids doing in the forest?”  
She was a natural born investigator, determined and thorough, science and logic and honest to God police work. She put him in his place and then to work, again, even in her dream she never cut him any slack, and he knew, that she wasn’t going anywhere until she saw this case through till the end.

In dream time, things change without warning, the scenery morphs from hospital parking lot to a forest path as they walk and talk. The dreams are ruled by laws of their own, like running through deep water, gliding over the ocean or floating in calm waters.  
The path took them down the hill and he forgot to pay attention, didn’t notice when she took a turn on her own.  
The cold air smelled like rain, damp earth and circle of life. Death and decay feeding generations to come. An owl hooted in the distance, no light but his flashlight, the canopy above filtered out the rain as well as the stars. Unfortunately his own memory remained intact, the nice trip to the forest he’ll promise her in a few months, that will almost kill them both. Will he have to relive those three nights too? His skin itched at the memory and Mulder wondered if he could dream the mosquitos out of at least this one.  
The needle on his compass spun around wild, Scully didn’t know that, was he filling in the blanks? A bright light and a rattling engine brought him back, Scully’s voice in the distance. Sudden fear gripped his heart, was this where the dream turned into nightmare? He found her, gun drawn, detective Miles standing on top of the hill framed in white light. Not his son.  
“You are on private property, without legal permission, get in your car and leave.”  
Mulder holstered his gun, unwilling to find out if in a dream you die for real or just wake up screaming. Scully followed, thunder rumbling above. The fear didn’t let go, the sky opened just as they left the dirt road behind.

Watch on his wrist showed 8:59 and Mulder really hoped she would spare him this part. Their first unexplained encounter, the 9 minutes he couldn’t explain.  
“What do you think this is?” Scully asked and he glanced at her hand, distracted, too busy scanning the skies, the side of the road for a hideaway. His only hope was that she didn’t remember anything either.  
“I don’t know, ash from a camp fire?”  
The rain was a heavy curtain around them, lightning pierced the sky time after time, making him grip the wheel, knuckles white, holding on for dear life.  
9:03 pm, the radio screeched and white light blinded them…

He’s alone in a white room. White walls all around, no doors, no windows. Senses movement, jerks around, thinking it’s her.  
He saw a boy, a young man actually. Almost as tall as himself, but lankier, still growing into his frame. Leather jacket, jeans and hiking boots, dark hair, blue eyes. Scully’s eyes.  
“Who are you?” There was no echo in this place, his voice sounded clear, if only a bit hesitant.  
“You said to come and find you here.” The boy spread his arms, hands still in his jacket pockets, gesture conveying the obviousness of his answer.  
“That’s not what I asked.” Mulder insisted, making him look away with a slight chuckle. Hair spilled over the boy’s eyes and Mulder’s stomach dropped.  
It was like looking through a mirror, with Scully on the other side, their features mixed and matched, utterly perfect and one of a kind. The kid looked up again and tears spilled from Mulder’s eyes.  
“How?” Was all he could choke out.  
“Souls come back together.” The boy smiled, and it was half him, half her and something entirely new altogether. “I came to give you a message.”  
Words went forgotten, as he looked at his son. The sharp features, bright eyes, equal parts confident and relaxed stance. Mulder nodded, listening intently and determined to remember.  
“Don’t give up,” the boy said, squaring his shoulders, standing tall and proud, “never give up on a miracle.”

A semi truck’s horn blared outside, bright light traveled over the ceiling above Mulder’s couch. Tears cooled on his cheeks fast and he wiped at them with surprise.  
Did something happen when the world went white?  
If he was crying, what was that warmth he felt inside?  
He couldn’t remember. His alarm clock showed 9:13pm. The 9 minutes remained lost.


	5. Chapter 5

It began with a memory of light. Bright light, inside and outside. The vision haunted him for years after Samantha’s abduction, nightmares about chasing invisible monsters, searching for something that could not be found, no matter how hard he tried.  
Later, when he went through regression therapy with dr. Werber, he remembered that night more clearly, reclaimed erased or repressed memories. Samantha lifted from her bed, floating three feet above the sheets, her cries for help drowned out by the noise. He could never get to her, never move fast enough, helpless like a child against the overpowering sense of calm coming from the outside, keeping him from following her into the light.  
Now he had a new dream to his collection. Bright lights shining through the trees, laugh of a madman, running through the clearing, too slow, always one step behind.  
Alarm clock woke him before dawn. Scully didn’t come to him and his stomach was tied in knots.

The phone rang when he came to the office. Skinner’s secretary calling him upstairs. His uncooperative boss was the last person he wanted to talk to.  
Coming to work felt like a chore for weeks now. The cases didn’t hold the same interest, office felt dark and empty despite the golden autumn outside. Everything in there reminded him of her, a mug, navy blue sweater kept for days the basement got too cold and damp, glasses in the drawer. Gold cross hidden under his shirt, a talisman he kept against darkness, failed him miserably.  
Mulder played dumb when Skinner asked about the incident in the hospital parking garage, and that was just too much for his boss.  
“What happened to you Mulder,” he asked, disappointment that no place there, slipped through the cracks.  
“You wanna know what?” He got up and banged the ashtray on his boss’ desk, crushed cigarette bud still smoking. “Him, Cancer man, he’s responsible for what happened to Scully, tell me how to find him.”  
Dark thoughts flooded Mulder’s mind since he woke up. She’s gone for good, she didn’t come, bright light took her and he blew it again, he’ll never be able to bring her back, he never even stood a chance, and that last realization angered him most. “I don’t care, you can have it all, the X-files, my badge, just tell me.”  
“And then what?” Skinner sat down, resigned, glasses sliding over the blotter, “he sleeps with the fishes? We’re not the mafia Agent Mulder, we work for the Department Of Justice.”  
“That’s what I want.” His cold resolve sounded more dangerous than any threat.  
Mulder was a great threat, mostly to himself, especially in this frame of mind and without Scully to watch his back.  
“Sit down.” Skinner ordered, not unkindly, and Mulder followed. Vengeance tasted best served cold anyway, he thought. The older man looked tired, although it was not even 10am. The buzzing phone was left ignored.  
“Scully was a fine officer,” he said quietly, “more than that, I liked her. But she knew the rules of the game and accepted them, if you weren’t ready for what might happen, maybe you shouldn’t have stepped up on the field.”  
Skinner was right, he should have stayed away when they split them up. He should have never let her draw him back into her life. There was no way to make it right or bring back what was lost. Everything he ever touched, died.  
“What if I knew the risk, but never told her.”  
“Then you’re as responsible for what happened to her as the Cancer man.” Skinner replied and the words crushed the last ounce of hope Mulder had.  
He went back to the office and typed in his letter of resignation, leaving it printed out on the desk, all it needed was his signature.

Lunch hour found him at the hospital, looking into Scully’s room through the glass. Melissa by her side, book in hand, reading out loud. The monitors never changed, but something made her turn around. Mulder nodded a greeting but stayed outside, no longer sure where his place was anymore. She closed the book and came out to meet him.  
“Why aren’t you coming in?”  
“I wanted to give you a minute,” he leaned against the doorframe, not looking at the figure on the bed, calm, frozen and beautiful, like a fairy tale princess. He couldn’t bare to see her, the guilt dragging him under.  
Melissa watched him and felt the change, his aura darkened. He cared for Dana, deeply, and she knew her sister enough to know, she wouldn’t let her friend hang himself with guilt, real or imagined.  
“Have lunch with me,” she suggested, hand under his elbow, steering him gently to follow, “I’m famished.”

She bought a sandwich in the hospital cafeteria, he ordered coffee but didn’t touch it, only kept playing with a packet of sugar that came with it. Turning it between his fingers, letting the contents trickle from one side to the other, like sand through an hourglass. He wasn’t the same man she saw just a day earlier. His determination was gone, but it wasn’t acceptance that replaced it, and it worried her more than she’d ever admit, given they were practically strangers. The light of hope was fading in him. He turned the packet upside down, again.  
“You know, Fox,” she faked the slip and it made him look up, “sorry, Mulder.”  
The smile she hoped for, didn’t come, he was miles away, hiding behind a brick wall.  
“You know, you can look for whoever did this to her for years, and still be as far from the truth as the rest of us,” the sugar hourglass turned, his eyes stayed down, “whoever did this to her, has an equal horror coming to them.”  
She tried to bring him some solace, but his face fell even farther.  
“Including myself?” he said, but before she could ask what he meant, some woman was asking for change for the vending machine. He got up, found a pack of Morley’s the woman didn’t want, and rushed away, as if spooked by something.

“What is it?” Mulder asked, suspicious of the envelope he just got handed.  
“Your plane ticket.” Mr. X stood in the shadow of the column, a different blind spot in the hospital’s security system.  
“But we barely know each other,” there was no humor in the words, how could he trust a man who just admitted to be using him for months.  
“Tonight, around 8:17pm, two men will come to your apartment, searching for some files, convinced the place to be vacant.”  
“And?”  
“I’m offering you something I never had.”  
“Meaning?”  
“A chance for revenge,” the man took a step back, deeper into the shadows, “after tonight I won’t be able to contact you for some time.”  
“Why are you helping me?” Mulder asked, but he was gone. Just another answer, he never got.

It was a dangerous gift. Mulder received such gifts before. Usually they turned out to be nice things, mostly to hang himself with. Fake intel, false leads, bogus cases designed to keep him away from the real deal.  
He sat on the couch, doors locked, lights turned off, gun in hand. There was a good chance the men who were supposed to come, knew he’d be waiting. It was possible that the outcome would be decided by the one who was quicker to draw, point and shoot, and whatever happened he was going to take that shot. For Scully, for Samantha, for all the people he lost.  
Lights from passing cars traveled the ceiling from time to time. Clock on the wall seemed to be frozen in time, it’s arms glued in place. The tank glowed, bubbles breaking on the surface hummed like…

Rain kept thrumming against the roof of his motel room. These places were always drafty, making the flame flicker, casting strange shadows between flashes of lightning. A generator must have died somewhere in the area. He heard a knock and went to the door, realizing when and where he was.  
“Hi,” he said, feeling relief wash over him. She was shaking, purple bathrobe did nothing to protect her from the cold.  
“I want you to look at something,” she declared, fear overpowering any shame she might feel. He let her in and closed the door, candle in his hand making her shadow dance over the walls.  
She was untying the robe and his heart started pounding, the image burned in his memory so deep that it was embarrassing, eidetic memory or not. Slender shoulders, small waist, white sensible underwear. The first time he saw her, confused as he was, he saw a woman, skin and curves, still his partner, but forever a beautiful woman. This time, he saw her, nothing more, the one person he trusted with his life, the one person he had to bring back.  
She glanced over her shoulder, weight shifting, and he remembered his part. Taking a deep breath, he knelt down to examine the marks on her lower back and noticed his own shaking hands, the flickering light. He didn’t dare to touch her this time, if he did, he wouldn’t be able to stop.  
“What are they?” She was starting to panic, reliving every second of the memory as it was happening. To her time was still a universal invariant, she’d never believe him, if he told her that this moment was already their past. “Mulder?”  
“Moquito bites,” hearing his own name on her lips again made him smile.  
“Are you sure?” He got up, before he did something rash.  
“Yeah, I’ve got eaten up a lot myself out there,” and there she was, soft weight rocking him back so that he had to brace himself, inside and out. Her arms around him holding tight, shuffled all his pieces back into place like a deck of cards. He held on, squeezing his eyes shut, she was warm, strong and alive, she smelled like Scully, and she felt like Scully, and he never wanted to let go or wake up. A lightning flashed, her face stayed buried in his t-shirt as he gently rubbed her back. Seconds ticked by, dream time making them stretch, was it him or her this time, tampering with their universe.  
“You okay?” he said softly, feeling her shift, relax into his embrace instead of pulling back. She pressed her cheek to his chest, exhaled, and he drew her a bit closer, a bit more like a long lost friend.  
“I…” she hesitated. Voice sounding distant made his breath catch. It was her, she was here, listening. He leaned down to whisper in her ear when a thunder crashed closer than ever…

Someone was pounding at the door, yanking him from the dream, the feeling of Scully’s arms fading rapidly. The gun in his hand suddenly felt very appropriate.  
“Mulder?” Acwoman’s voice called, and somehow he doubted, that Melissa was here to search his apartment. It was tempting to ignore her and protect his cover, but the longer she stood there, the more she put herself in danger. A cold thought sent a shiver down his spine; something might have happened. He opened the door and looked past her down the hall, empty for now.  
“Sorry I came by, but you weren’t answering your phone,” she started to apologize but he quickly dragged her inside closing the door behind them. “Why is it so dark in here”  
“Because the lights aren’t on,” he deadpanned, holding back anger. She was reckless to come here, and he couldn’t bare having any more blood on his hands.  
“Okay,” she looked at him as if she saw an exceptionally annoying teenager, “I just came from the hospital, dr. Daly says she’s weakening.” The weight of her words sinking in as she relayed them, still the truth couldn’t make it past her throat. “It could be anytime, so I figured you’d want to come and see her.”  
_To say goodbye_ , he wanted to finish for her.  
“I can’t,” _I’m not saying goodbye, she’s not going anywhere._  
“Well I think that you would,” she insisted and Mulder screwed his eyes shut, blocking out her and her new-age make peace with death crap.  
“I can’t, not right now,” she was just here, he felt her, he could still bring her back. But Melissa was angry with him now, unaware that Scully was reaching out.  
“Listen. I don’t have to be psychic to see that you’re in a very dark place… much darker than where my sister is,” the calm facade dropped, she was going full throttle. “Why don’t you just drop your cynicism and your paranoia and your defeat. Why is it so much easier for you to run away than just expressing to her how you feel? I expect more from you. Dana expects more!”  
She unlatched the door and pushed past him, anger rolling of her in waves he could almost feel crash against him. “Even if it doesn’t bring her back, at least she’ll know. And so will you.”  
She slammed the door and he leaned against it, hiding his face in cold and shaking hands.  
He came home determined to get even, ready to bring down the men who hurt her. But he knew it would never even the scales, no life taken would make her come back or take the pain away.  
The watch on his wrist ticked loudly in the silence that fell over him. The silence that would reign forever, if he did nothing. Seconds shoveled from someday through now to way back when. All the things lost, questions never asked. The greatest mystery was life itself.

She was still asleep, alone in her room, the slowly beeping monitor watching over her, chanting _still, here, still, here…_  
He took the chair by her side, slipped his fingers into her palm and held on for both of them. Could he do it like this? Would she come if he’d go looking for her? Was there really no more time? The beeping monitor had no answers, just went on with his mantra, _still, here, still, here…_  
“I feel, Scully that you believe…” he spoke softly, feeling each word, willing them through from the bottom of his heart, voice catching as he fought the fear in their path, “you’re not ready to go. And you’ve always had the strength of your beliefs.” The cross around his neck was her strength, and he willed that strength into her as well, blindly making up spells as he went along. “I don’t know if my being here… will help bring you back. But I’m here.”  
The monitor kept its’ hypnotizing rhythm, _still, here, still, here…_

The rain soaked through his jeans and jacket, graveyard scent giving the dream a morbid twist.  
“What is going on here?” She protested, two open graves yawning in the distance.  
“I think I know who did it,” he felt the cold but also the feeling of the two of them, finally on the same page, the night they connected. “I think I know who killed Karen Swenson.”  
“Who? The detective?” He remembered the look on her face, when she filled in the gaps in his theory with science, the night she saved him from his own madness.  
“The detective’s son.” He risked, waiting for her to call him crazy, to do that crazy thing she does. She never gave up without a fight, not on that first case, never in her life.  
“The boy in the hospital, the vegetable?!”  
“Peggy O'Dell was bound to a wheelchair but she ran in front of that truck,” _maybe she woke up in a strange place, alone in the dark._ “Look, I’m not making this up, it all fits the profile of alien abduction.”  
“This fits a profile?” The rational mind was her wall, lifting her up and giving her clear view of the world, as much as giving her someplace to hide. He climbed that wall to bring her back.  
“Yes. Peggy O'Dell was killed at around nine-o-clock, that’s right around the time we lost nine minutes on the highway,” _when I thought I lost you_ “I think that something happened in that nine minutes, I think that time, as we know it, stopped. And something took control over it.”  
She did that, she called him here, to a place where everything started. He saw her smile and believed, believed with all his heart, that it wasn’t to tell him goodbye.  
“You think I’m crazy.” He said and she ducked her head hiding a smile, but he could feel her thinking too. The cold turned their breaths into puffs of mist in the moonlight.  
“Peggy O'Dell’s watch stopped a couple of minutes after nine,” her voice became distant, thoughtful, reciting his old words back to him, “kids come to the forest, because the forest summons them, and the marks are from some kind of test that’s being done on them.”  
Gaze fixed on the grass beneath their feet, she began to shiver. Mulder took the three steps that separated them, and shrugging out of his jacket, draped it above her head.  
“I’m sorry,” he said, willing the dream cold away, “I left my umbrella at the office.”  
Puff of air marked her laughter as she closed the gap and though he could barely hear her over the rain, he was sure this wasn’t the young girl he just met, not anymore. She looked up and the months they shared were written in her eyes.  
“We’ll make it work somehow,” she replied and threw her arms around his neck, pulling him down. Mulder freed one arm, crushing her to his chest, laughing and whispering time and time again.  
_“Scully”_

Something plopped on his head, making him wake with a start, gentle weight slipping down his neck when he looked up. She was looking straight at him, eyes slowly blinking away sleep, fingers searching.  
He took her hand and brought it to his lips, pressing them against warm, dry skin, making her smile, a bit with her lips, but mostly with eyes.  
“Hi,” she breathed and he knew, even though no sound came out.  
“Welcome back,” he whispered and she brushed away tears that rolled from his eyes.

_____

A lifetime later, they sat on opposite sides of a hospital bed, listening to the steady rhythm of yet another heart rate monitor. The mother they shared, _still, here, still, here…_  
“Back in the day…” Scully hesitated, still not entirely comfortable with embracing the fantastic as a possibility, “did we ever come across the ability to just… wish someone back to life?”  
“I invented it,” Mulder replied, “when you were in the hospital, like this.” He no longer feared being called crazy, he loved her skepticism as much as she loved his crazy.  
“You’re a dark wizard, Mulder.” She smiled, the love they shared pulling them through dark times. Together, as always.


End file.
